“Will ye have us hang them as thieves?” asked Ardkinglass, “or shall we cut them down noo?” Breadalbane pushed the blond hair back from his eyes, and glanced round his tacksmen. In the little pause that followed, Ian broke into a furious taunt: “Are ye turning tender, Jock Campbell? Dinna fear the odds—a Macdonald is worth sax Campbells!” Down from the door came the Countess Peggy into the midst of the men; the brown fur on her bosom was unclasped and showed the tumbled lace of her tie; her red hair had fallen into twists of fine curls onto her shoulders; she was flushed and most beautiful. “Kill them, Jock,” she said. She held out her hands, red-marked, round the wrist from Ronald’s grip. “Kill them, Jock,” she said again, and her gaze went straight and defiant to Ronald Macdonald. Breadalbane did not answer her; he spoke to Makian. “Your son gave me my life, Macdonald, and you’re three against a hundred. I hav’na’ need to crush ye by these means and I’ll no’ be under a debt to a Macdonald. Take your lives and gang.” The Countess made a fierce little sound under her breath: “Ah, no, Jock—kill them—while ye have the chance!” “He saved my life,” the Earl answered briefly, then to the Macdonalds, “leave Kilchurn, and remember I’m no’ under a debt to ye.” They came slowly forward, showing little of their surprise in their faces; Ronald’s blue eyes were devouringly on the Countess; she drew herself up as he passed and her hand clutched into her furs. “I wouldna’ have let ye go,” she cried bitterly, but Breadalbane turned on her: “Woman, will ye no’ remember, I’m master in my ain castle?” She shrank into herself, submissive under the rebuke; but a hate not to be controlled flashed from her eyes. “See them out of the castle, Ardkinglass,” commanded the Earl, “see they gang at once. I’m no wishing to be robbed under my ain eyes.” Makian, afraid for his life, swallowed the insult and without a backward look or any salutation to the Earl, went heavily from the hall, his sons at his heels. Ardkinglass and the Campbells followed. Now they were alone, the Countess Peggy turned passionately to her husband. “Ah, I thought I had died! ah, my ain love, Jock—why didna’ ye kill them?” She caught up his hand and put her cheek to it with a little caressing movement. He frowned at her absently and put his free hand to his sword-hilt. “Jock, Jock,” she cried, “ye had your chance—all the hate of these hundred years might hae been satisfied—ye shouldna’ hae let them gang sae easily—that—Ronald—too,” her eyes flashed as she said it, “escapes more lightly than if he’d kissed a Hieland wench against her will—is it for naething I am Campbell o’ Glenorchy’s wife? Ah, Jock, when ye drew your sword I thought ye had killed him for me—not let him live to—boast—” Breadalbane turned impatiently. “Ye dinna understand,” he said, “he saved my life for one thing.”